


Dust

by tapdancinglorax



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Dan and Phil World Tour 2018: Interactive Introverts, Hotels, M/M, No Dan and Phil World Tour 2018: Interactive Introverts Spoilers, Tour Bus, dust in general, dust storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 19:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15564372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tapdancinglorax/pseuds/tapdancinglorax
Summary: Sometimes it's not a good idea to leave Dan alone with his thoughts





	Dust

The hotel room smells like dust.  
Dan didn't know dust had a smell for a long time, not until he clambered off the bus during a windstorm in the middle of a desert. The gas station looked brown. All of that dirt in the air, it was horrible. It invaded his lungs and soon all he could taste was dirt. He didn't know dust had a taste either.   
Dan decided on that day that desert dwellers were insane. Who would want to live in a place where your air was dirt and your storms had no water?   
The dust storm followed them for days. It lurked in the corners of their bus, sticking to sweaty arms and wet hair. It would explode into the air when you sat down or shook a blanket. It was like a desert ghost had come to haunt their tour bus. And every time Dan would think they had finally gotten rid of it all, all the dust painting the inside of their tiny home on wheels brown, there it would be again. The desert, Dan learned, doesn't let go that easily.  
And now they had a hotel room that smelled of dust and looked like dust and could do nothing more than remind Dan of that rainless storm. The furniture was brown, the curtains were brown, even the white walls were tinted brown. It was days like this that made Dan feel like he was turning to dust. The dirt clung to his skin and left him feeling more and more like that desert ghost on their bus and less and less like Dan Howell.  
His hair and eyes were already brown, he thought, it wouldn't take much to turn him into a vaguely human shaped lump of dirt.  
And there it was, that dastardly rabbit hole of negative thoughts and telling himself he was worthless. Dan hated that rabbit hole, nearly as much as he hated that dusty ghost that was following them. The dust was like the sand, but somehow worse, because the dust was quiet and didn't announce its presence, it was just there, like that little voice in Dan's ear. You can't even get rid of me, the dust laughed at him, useless twat.   
Dan sighed.  
He didn't fit on this couch, he knew that. He was sprawled out on it, his legs over the arm and close to the floor. The couch was brown, and unremarkable. It was felt like someone had turned the dust in the air into furniture. It wasn't a very comfortable couch, nor was Dan in a very comfortable position, but he didn't want to move. He'd disturb his thoughts and the dust he could settling around him if he moved. So Dan laid there, springs digging into his spine and eyes on the ceiling, watching the specks of dust dance in the sliver of sun coming through the curtains that only lead to a view of a dusty city with too many cars and too many buildings and too many people. The dust specks were like the stars. He knew there were too many of them to count, but he still tried. One, two three.  
Dan didn't know why the dust made him think of himself. It was just dust, nothing remarkable. They had dust all over back in their flat in London. But there was something special about this dust. Dan didn't know what, but there was. Maybe it was the storms. The storms that got in your lungs and made them heavy. The storms made of something so small and insignificant, but become a heavy blanket of wind and dirt, pushing you around, back and forth, back and forth, doing whatever the dust pleases. Four, five, six.  
Maybe Dan was just weird.  
Seven.  
Someone slams a door.  
And just like that, Dan's pulled out of his weird, dusty rabbit hole of thoughts. He sits up, popping his back and yawning, turning to the perpetrator of the noise.  
“Hi,” Phil said, “Were you in a rabbit hole again?”  
Dan didn't remember talking to Phil about the rabbit holes. He didn't remember explaining them, but Phil did. Phil knew when he was in one of those downward spirals that end in tears and angry words because Dan convinces himself he isn't enough, that no one loves him, and it's just a show put on out of pity. Phil knows how to pull him out, to remind him he is loved and that it's not all a show.  
It's funny, how they know each other so well they can nearly read each other's minds. That Dan can tell when Phil's exhaustion is getting to him and that smile is a fake one, and Phil can tell when Dan is overwhelmed and getting lost in his own mind. They know each other so well that they don't even need words any more. Because “Were you in a rabbit hole again?” means more than that. He asked a thousand questions with that one.  
“Yeah,” Dan said, answering all them at once.  
Phil sat down next to him, bouncing a little on the couch.  
“This sucks,” Phil said, referring to both the couch and Dan’s answers.  
“Yeah,” Dan said.  
“We’ll make the best of it, though, right? Maybe curl up in bed to watch a movie instead of this pile of springs and… I don't think that's fabric.”  
“It's dust, I think.”  
“Is that what you were counting?  
“What?”  
“The dust.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Why?”  
Phil leaned back, draping his arm over the back of the chair. Dan took that as an invitation and leaned into Phil.  
“I don't know.”  
“Was the rabbit hole about dust, too?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Maybe the counting was you trying to stay grounded.”  
“Maybe.”  
There was silence for a little while, just the two of them staring at nothing, comfortable in their closeness.  
“Phil?”  
“Yeah?”  
“I'm not useless, am I?  
“No.”  
“What about-"  
“Nope.”  
“What if-"  
“Absolutely not.”  
“You're not letting me finish.”  
“I'm not letting you fall back into those thoughts, Dan. You aren't useless. You've never been useless, and never will be useless.”  
“But-"  
“No.”  
And then there was silence again.  
Dan started counting again.  
Phil pressed his lips in his hair and softly whispered, “Let’s dance.”  
“Why?”  
“Because, Dan. Just because.”  
“Ok.”  
Phil stood up and fished his phone out of his pocket.   
Dan shoved back the dusty coffee table.  
“There.” Phil tossed his phone down on the couch.  
Dan wrapped his arms around Phil's waist, pulling him close. Phil did the same.  
Dan laid his head on Phil's shoulder, swaying gently to whatever song this was.  
“I love you, you know that,” Phil said.  
“Of course I know, you idiot.”  
“You just asked me if I thought you were useless.”  
“Well, I know you love me. Whether or not I'm useless.”  
“You aren't useless. Seriously, Dan.”  
“Alright, then.”  
They stayed there, like that, wrapped in each other and dancing to a song Dan didn't know the name of, letting the sun and the dust wrap around them like two statues.  
And for once, Dan didn't curse the dust.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an attempt at a meditative piece focusing on the idea of "making uninteresting things interesting." Of course, using Dan as a main character helped, as he is an intresting dude, but I'd love to know how I did in the intresting sense. Leave a comment if you enjoyed and have a wonderful day. :)


End file.
